


If His Destiny Be Strange, It Is Also Sublime

by MnemonicMadness



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Amnesia, Attraction, Bashir is an amazing husband who loves his disaster lizard, Established Relationship, Flirting, Fluff, Garak is a disaster lizard, Hurt/Comfort, It's Not Paranoia If They're Really Out To Get You, M/M, Married Couple, POV Elim Garak, Post-Canon, Post-Canon Cardassia, Temporary Amnesia, Trust Issues, and a lot of it, mentions of Enabran Tain and Mila, of both the regular and the Cardassian variety
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-26 11:10:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22605178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MnemonicMadness/pseuds/MnemonicMadness
Summary: Following a head injury, Garak wakes up in a Cardassian hospital with an attractive stranger by his bedside - a human doctor, who claims to be his husband.AKA 6k of amnesiac!Garak being Paranoid™, and Bashir lovingly putting up with him.
Relationships: Julian Bashir/Elim Garak
Comments: 43
Kudos: 288
Collections: Chocolate Box - Round 5





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nabielka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nabielka/gifts).

> For the prompt: woke up in the future/amnesia tropes with Garak not quite knowing what to make of this life he's built with Julian and being suspicious about it.  
I hope you'll enjoy what I came up with!!!
> 
> Special thanks goes to Sky for the last minute beta, you're amazing!!! ♥♥♥
> 
> The title is a quote from Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea, by Jules Verne, which is my favourite book in existence. I figured it fits with the whole literature theme this ship has going on :D

The second thing Garak becomes aware of upon regaining consciousness is the throbbing pain in the back of his head, reminiscent of what it might feel like to have a drunken hoard of Klingons holding a boisterous victory celebration in the back of his skull, his implant evidently having deactivated itself once he fell unconscious. It’s a sensation he is well acquainted with, however, the experience hardly becomes more enjoyable with repetition, and as such, perhaps it should have been the first thing he ought to have noticed.

It is testament to the effectiveness of the training the Order instils in its operatives that instead, the first thing he knows is that he isn’t alone wherever it is he has woken up, which prompts him to ignore the headache and feign sleep in hopes of acquiring further information. This strategy proves unsuccessful, unsurprisingly really, as now that his mental faculties are returning, he realises that the ambient noise, the distinctive smell, and the feeling of what seems to be the surface of a biobed he is laying on indicate that he is at a medical facility, and being monitored accordingly.

“Ah, you’re awake!” a voice addresses him from his left, the speaker keeping it low and gentle, yet the pleasure is evident. The man addressing Garak is speaking Kardasi, and yet, there is an undeniably foreign accent, which is somewhat worrying. “How are you feeling?”

Seeing as there is little point in continuing his charade now, Garak opens his eyes. Indeed, he appears to be in a hospital room. Turning his head is unpleasant, but given that he is in a vulnerable state with a stranger by his side, it wouldn’t do to show any truly existing weakness if doing so is in any way avoidable. He can almost hear Tain’s lecture.

The sight that greets him is unexpected, to say the least, and any less disciplined operative than Garak would probably have shown perplexity. Despite the medical equipment and the architecture of the room indicating that this is in fact a Cardassian hospital, the stranger is human, Garak estimates him to be in his mid-30s in standard years, with dark hair and hazel eyes and smooth, scale-free caramel skin. He is exceedingly attractive, and Garak finds himself absentmindedly hoping that the human won’t prove himself hostile, as it would be quite a shame to kill such a beautiful specimen. For now, he decides to answer the query in hopes of beginning some further conversation, and schools his features into a mild-mannered smile.

“I believe I am well on the mend,” his gaze flickers to the human’s medical garb – also of Cardassian origin, very curious indeed, “doubtlessly thanks to your ministrations, Doctor.”

The doctor – to Garak’s continued confusion – gives him an exasperated, yet openly  _ fond _ look before turning to the readings on the monitors of the biobed, which prompts the look to turn apologetic.

“I’m afraid due to the supply shortages, painkillers are still reserved for the most severe cases, but the osteo-regenerator should be done any minute now. I figured you wouldn’t appreciate it if I’d made an exception for you, to the possible detriment of a civilian.”

Supply shortages severe enough to affect medical supplies, even those as easily replicated as the more basic analgesics? That, coupled with a human doctor in a Cardassian hospital – he recognises the lilt to his otherwise flawless Kardasi to be a Standard accent now – paints an equally puzzling and worrisome picture. Enough so that he is beginning to entertain the idea that this may be some sort of test designed by Tain, though to what purpose escapes Garak. Or perhaps the doctor is a fellow operative, surgically altered to infiltrate the Federation by posing as their most abundant species. If so, someone ought to give the surgeon a commendation. A shortage of medical supplies would explain why his appearance has yet to be corrected, even though he privately finds once again that this too would be a shame.

“I appreciate your thoughtfulness, doctor.” he simply replies, hoping it will be enough to overplay his gap in knowledge.

“Bashir?” A female voice calls from the doorway and a moment later, to Garak’s cautious reassurance, a Cardassian nurse steps into view.

The doctor – Bashir, apparently – gives Garak a playfully warning look now that speaks of inexplicable familiarity. “I’ll be right back. Don’t go anywhere.”

As tempting as the thought is to utilise the opportunity to perhaps gain access to a computer panel to gain further information about Bashir and the apparently very concerning state of the medical system, he finds that although his headache is noticeably receding, it is probably best to heed the doctor’s advice for now. In any case, eavesdropping too is a tried and true method of espionage.

The nurse’s name appears to be Delnak, and the lack of formal titles between her and Bashir is indicative of a certain familiarity between them, clearly they are comfortable coworkers, perhaps even friends, though it does seem to fall short of the familiarity he showed Garak. It is reasonable to assume the human has been working in this hospital for some time already and is at least somewhat trusted and well-liked by the staff – if he is indeed human. The accent as well as the name suggest as much, though Garak won’t discount the possibility of surgical alteration just yet.

The conversation shifts from scheduling concerns to Garak himself with a nervous glance from Delnak in his direction.

“I don’t want to overstep...” she addresses the doctor hesitantly, voice lowered but not quiet enough, coupled with Garak’s skills concerning lip reading, he can still make out her words clearly enough.

“You know you’re always welcome to speak your mind.” the doctor reassures her. Curiously enough, he seems to make no attempt to prevent Garak from listening in, though the operative suspects the doctor to be well aware of him doing so.

“You are aware of certain… rumours about Councillor Garak’s past?”

Bashir considers this for a moment. “I’m aware of the truth, and I’m speaking from experience when I tell you there’s no need to worry so much. But I appreciate your concern.”

On his biobed, Garak tenses. The use of his real name – although he lacks even the faintest idea as to why the nurse would refer to him by the title of councillor, flattering though it might seem – is further evidence that he appears to have found himself within friendly territory. And indeed, casting a quick glance out of the window before returning his attention to the doctor and nurse in the doorway, the sky looks like that of Cardassia Prime herself. And yet, they might be referencing knowledge of his work for the Order, even if, as they speak of this work in past tense, they are unlikely to be operatives themselves. Civilian assets, perhaps? Or perhaps his current assignment required a cover on his homeworld, with a harmless but illicit past to cover up any inconsistencies in his record the Order couldn’t sufficiently explain away otherwise. His attempt to remember what his assignment may be only results in an increase of the pounding inside his skull.

Bashir dismisses his nurse and returns to Garak’s side, giving him yet another oddly warm smile. Upon the small chirp from the osteo-regenerator, he reaches up and gently removes the device from Garak’s head.

“Your headache will probably linger for another few days at least. I would order you to take time off work, but I know how to pick my battles, and this is one I won’t win, so instead I’ll just insist that you take it easy for at least a week. That means no overtime.” Garak finds himself on the receiving end of yet another affectionately warning look. “And you can trust that if I think you do overwork yourself, I will find a way to get you back here and confine you to this bed.”

Garak gives him his most charming smile, letting some innuendo bleed into his voice. “Of that I have no doubt, Doctor.”

Evidently, disappointingly, it seems to have little effect on Bashir. “Other than the headache, are you experiencing any nausea, vertigo, difficulty concentrating, retrograde amnesia?”

Of course. Retrograde amnesia. He will not settle on this conclusion with absolute certainty just yet, there is still a chance that this is a setup by Tain after all, or perhaps a rather ambitious attempt of the Tal Shiar to lull him into a false sense of security, though it does presently sound like the most plausible explanation, for both the puzzling pieces of information he has gained, as well as Bashir’s presence and evident familiarity with Garak.

Intuitively, he realises, he wants to believe that Bashir is trustworthy. Which alone is yet more reason not to trust the good-looking doctor, as much as it can be advantageous to give them due consideration, Tain has taught him well regarding the dangers of relying on one’s instincts alone, without any further evidence to support them.

To insist he has no further complaints would likely arouse suspicion, so Garak settles on a placating “Some minor dizziness, though I believe some fresh air may already prove to be enough of a remedy.”

Bashir considers this for a moment, then sighs. “Usually, after such a severe head trauma, I’d keep you here for observation for at least 24 hours. But,” he raises his hand in a gesture to stop him before Garak can attempt to convince him to reconsider, “seeing as I need to free up as many biobeds as I can, I’ll release you anyway. Besides, the best thing for a healing body is rest, and I know you, so I know you won’t get any until you’re home.”

Garak makes a mental note to research the state of the medical system at his earliest opportunity to do so.

“How very considerate of you.” he tells the doctor with a wide, disarming smile, earning an eyeroll for his efforts as he helps Garak slowly sit up, before he turns away to retrieve what looks to be Garak’s personal belongings.

Not expecting the doctor to speak again for at least a few minutes, Garak is somewhat surprised to hear the gentle voice address him once again, though not nearly as much as he is over the fond smile that accompanies it, or the unexpectedly convincing tone of teasing nonchalance he affects.

“I hope your amnesia doesn’t extend back enough that you don’t remember having read The Legate’s Trial. I finished it during my lunch break today, and I’ve been looking forward to discussing it over dinner.”

Having been raised and trained by Enabran Tain himself, moments at which Garak has found himself struck speechless were far and few between, he has long since learned better, and as he is so keenly reminded now, he does not care for the feeling at all, no matter how quick he is to recover. Bashir calmly meets his eyes, expression so open that Garak instinctively mistrusts it, even as he tries to glean as much information from those hazel eyes as he can.

It stands to reason that, given his chosen profession and the competence necessary for how easily his Cardassian colleagues seem to have accepted him, Bashir is an exceptionally bright individual, Garak never would have expected anything less. But the spark of sheer, sharp intelligence and keen observation almost like his own showing in those eyes, somehow unnoticed by Garak until now, coupled with how easily the human has seen through his lie, and the clear  _ challenge _ shining in them, are something else entirely.

If he’d thought the good doctor extremely attractive before, now he seems dangerously irresistible.

_ I can resist anything but temptation. _ The phrase pops into his head, disjointed from any context and yet, he knows it comes from an author whose works he is, or should be familiar with, lending more credibility to Bashir’s claim that Garak is suffering from retrograde amnesia. After a moment of obligatorily weighing his options, he gives into temptation and allows his own smile to sharpen.

“If I may ask, what gave me away?”

Bashir is delightfully unperturbed by the smile that would have most others either flinching away, or, in case of more hardy individuals, squirm with discomfort. The warmth in his eyes never dims, and he apparently has no qualms about approaching Garak, handing him a neatly folded stack of clothes.

“Oh, don’t worry, I doubt anyone else would’ve been able to tell the difference. But I know you, Elim.”

_ Elim. _ It seems the good doctor is intent on continuing to throw him for the proverbial loop. Admittedly, considering his own reactions, it’s not all too surprising that assuming he and Bashir have indeed known each other for some time already, he would have attempted to lure the enticing human into his bed, and might even have succeeded. But the use of his given name implies a level of intimacy that is unthinkable for any operative of the Order. He decides that the theory of having found himself in the midst of a deep-cover assignment which inexplicably requires the use of his real name still retains credibility.

“In that case, it appears you have me at a disadvantage.”

This prompts a good-natured chuckle from the human. “I guess it does. I should mark the occasion in my calendar.” His humour subsides, leaving a glimmer of amusement and his previous warmth. “Well, it’s a rather long story, and your memory should return on its own within the next 36 hours. If it hasn’t by then, I’ll have to take you back here to be treated with a neural stimulator. The year is 2377, it’s winter now, the Peren’dek celebration was two standard weeks ago.”

Assuming Bashir is being truthful, the timespan missing from Garak’s memories is considerable. He nods, refusing to give away how much the thought unsettles him. Leaning forward, he places his hand on top of the human’s delightfully warm one, looking at him with heat and flirtatious intensity. “And what about you, my dear doctor? You seem like a  _ fascinating _ individual, it’s truly a shame that I currently know so little about you.”

To his satisfaction, while still calm and composed, Bashir doesn’t remain unaffected, hazel eyes flickering to Garak’s smile for a moment and a faint dusting of pink forming on his cheeks. “I see you’ve lost your memories, but none of your charm.” he remarks drily, in spite of the blush. “I’m Dr Julian Bashir, and you and I have known each other for almost nine years. We met on Deep Space Nine, formerly Terok Nor, after the occupation of Bajor ended and the station was turned over to the Bajoran government, which oversees it under joint command with Starfleet. You were working as a tailor.”

“A  _ tailor? _ ”

On Dukat’s Terok Nor? Or, rather, what is apparently  _ formerly _ Terok Nor. Privately, he finds himself relieved that the occupation of Bajor has evidently ended approximately nine years ago, he’d always thought it was much more trouble than it’s worth. A drain on Cardassia’s resources, only maintained by the overblown egos and pride of the likes of Dukat. Still, he must have found himself in quite significant trouble to land himself an assignment as a  _ tailor _ on a Federation starbase, and his curiosity regarding his missing memories is suddenly tainted by a hint of apprehension.

Bashir’s face lights up with a mischievous smile as he gestures towards the pile of clothes in Garak’s lap. “Oh yes, and a rather good one. You made these yourself. Although so far, you’ve failed to instil your sense of fashion in me.” Then, worryingly, his face turns serious, compassionate but grave, with eyes that suddenly seem too old for such a youthful face. “You were living in exile there until two and a half years ago. There was a war, a devastating one, between a civilisation from the Gamma Quadrant, and the Federation and its allies. We won, eventually, but under Dukat, Cardassia joined our enemies, who eventually turned on Cardassia. The damage was… considerable.” He swallows thickly before continuing. “The recovery efforts are still underway, but given the damage suffered by most of the major civilisations of the Alpha Quadrant, and the fact that Cardassia has always had few actual allies, progress is slower than we’d hoped. After the war, you stayed here while I returned to Deep Space Nine for a few weeks, but… Well, I suppose, a lot of things were different, I was missing you, and I knew Cardassia would need any help it could get, so I ended up joining the first relief contingent I could.”

It takes more effort than Garak cares to admit to keep his expression controlled at this bleak picture Bashir’s words paint of the state of his beloved home. Reminding himself that he has no conclusive proof the doctor can be trusted helps little. “Then, for myself, as well as in the name of Cardassia, I thank you for your service to us, doctor. Although… Forgive me for asking, I don’t want to seem ungrateful, but, why is it that you’ve stayed here for all this time, when surely, there must be Federation worlds in want of your talents? Don’t tell me Cardassia has joined the Federation?”

At least Garak’s exaggeratedly disbelieving tone at the prospect brings amusement back to the doctor’s eyes. “I doubt that would happen in our lifetime. But from what you've told me, we’re close to opening negotiations for a diplomatic relationship, or at least for a non-aggression pact. And admittedly, my own standing with Starfleet isn’t on a firm ground, now that the war’s over and did play a role in my decision to stay on Cardassia. That, and the fact that my help is needed here, and I’ve come to quite love Cardassia myself, but… Ultimately, I stayed because of you, Elim.”

The warm hand beneath his turns over and Bashir entwines their fingers, meeting Garak’s gaze once more with a boyish smile. “We were friends for seven years on DS9. Admittedly, we flirted a lot, but it was only once I came here that we finally moved beyond that. We’ve been together for a little over a year and a half now, and we’ve been married for four months.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you're enjoying the fic so far, and that you might take a quick moment to let me know what you think? :)


	2. Chapter 2

Immediately a number of new possibilities, new suspicions form, and how could they not, when faced with the claim that this alluring creature is Garak’s husband? Has he lost his edge after years of exposure to the Federation and its naivité, to allow the doctor so close to him when it is immediately obvious that he would be only too perfect a choice for a rival intelligence service to honeypot someone as high-ranking in the Order as Garak – supposed exile or no? Or perhaps he has been playing his own game, gathering information on whoever sent Bashir –  _ Julian _ , if that is indeed his name– or even working to turn his loyalties. Which would explain his presence on Cardassia, and his claims to have lost his good standing in the Federation, and yet would equally add to his allure.

He covers his scepticism with a heated smile, allowing his eyes to fill with intensity as he takes the sight of him in anew, delighted to discover that given the blooming flush and dilated pupils, at least Julian’s attraction to him is genuine.

“Well, in that case, I must say, I am relieved to find that evidently, I seem to have retained excellent taste over the years.”

That makes Bashir grin, even as the flush deepens and he shakes his head. If the loving glance Garak receives from him is an act, he will concede that it is a very good one. “Elim, I  _ know _ you don’t believe me that easily.”

To have his obfuscations questioned so bluntly is a novelty, but in this moment, he decides that he rather likes the challenge of it. Even if he likes decidedly less how much of a challenge it suddenly poses to refrain from allowing himself to be distracted by doing something as rash as, say, pulling the good doctor in to kiss him until that delightful spark of intelligence is hazed with passion.

“You don’t seem offended.” he challenges in return.

“That’s because after almost a decade of your games, I like to think that I know you.”

An obvious opening, one too good not to take advantage of. “Well, in that case, my dear doctor, you’d surely be able to prove your claim by telling me something only I would know, but that I must have confided in my husband at some point beyond my memory?”

It’s a trick question, one where any direct answer to it would be false in itself, though Bashir cannot know that, given that he immediately takes a breath and opens his mouth to speak. Except, he closes it before any sound escapes, regarding Garak with a thoughtful expression for another moment.

“Oh, you’ve told me a great many things over the years. But to be honest, I have my doubts that I’ll ever know which of them are lies and which, if any, are true. You know, I asked you about this once, but all you said was that everything was true, and especially the lies.”

A sentiment Garak would emphatically agree with, if he weren’t too unsettled by the doctor’s answer. An answer he never would have expected, the one possible answer lending actual credibility to the doctor's story. He even briefly entertains the idea that perhaps, Bashir is telling the truth.

“For someone who claims to have such an intimate relationship with me, you don’t appear to trust me all that much.”

“It took me a while, but I learned that I don’t need to know everything about you to know  _ you. _ I’ve accepted that you’ll probably always be a bit of a mystery to me, we'll probably sit together in our garden someday, at a ripe old age, arguing about some book, and you'll still manage to say things that'll make me question everything I thought I knew about you. But even if I may not always trust what you say, I trust  _ in _ you. I know that you will put Cardassia and its people and welfare above anything, certainly above yourself, and if need be, even above me and our relationship. I know you’re capable of terrible things and you’ve probably done a lot that I’d disagree with, to say the least, but I trust that you’d only ever do so for the greater good. And I’ve come to trust that you love me, regardless of the fact that you’d be willing to hurt me if it were necessary for the good of Cardassia.”

Holding Julian’s gaze is suddenly difficult, as the surprisingly accurate assessment leaves Garak feeling downright exposed. A feeling he emphatically does not care for, not even, or perhaps _ especially _ not, when it is echoed by a strangely warm sense of acceptance.

_ If we want the rewards of being loved we have to submit to the mortifying ordeal of being known. _ Another quote he doesn’t remember where he might have come across it, though he has the sneaking suspicion that Julian may well be to blame. In any case, he allows the corners of his mouth to twitch with genuine amusement. Mortifying indeed.

“I couldn’t help but notice, however, that this wasn’t your initial answer.” he begins despite his better judgement. “Would you care to enlighten me as to what truths you have nonetheless gleaned from me?”

Given this conversational thread, and what he’d overheard between Bashir and the nurse, his claim to know the truth – or at least  _ a _ truth, which still is more than anyone save perhaps Mila and Tain could rightly claim to know of Garak – he is almost certain that the doctor is aware of his work for the Order, something further evidenced by his current hesitation. It makes him all the more dangerous as a potential adversary, as one of Garak’s favourite weapons in his arsenal is his tendency to be underestimated. An advantage he’d sorely miss when faced with someone as clever as the good doctor.

After his earlier talkativeness, the human’s silence is unexpected, and Garak briefly entertains the hope that he may have exaggerated his knowledge, before dismissing it. No, it is far more likely that moral conflict is the source of his hesitance. After all, most humans do so like their ethics, and considering what seems to be a likely genuine affection for and attraction to Garak, Bashir may have difficulty reconciling him with whatever information he may have of Garak’s methods and assignments.

Expecting to have one of his more bloody exploits recounted to him, it takes him aback when suddenly Julian’s gaze shifts to something downright compassionate, and as soon as he speaks, the true reason for his hesitation becomes clear.

“I know you’re claustrophobic. And I know that Tain was your father.” Julian tells him softly.

This time, there is no helping it, he finds himself swallowing thickly. The knowledge of the claustrophobia could be explained away, after all, the man is a medical professional, likely with some at least rudimentary psychological training, and at this point it’s a near certainty that regardless of the true nature of their relationship, they must have spent quite some time in each other’s company. It would be all too easy to recognise the symptoms, even in an operative of Garak’s calibre. But to know of his true parentage…

The fact that Bashir spoke of Tain in past tense doesn’t pass him by. Somehow, presumably some subconscious awareness of everything he has forgotten, this doesn’t come as a surprise. To lose such a close family member would be painful to any Cardassian, regardless of conditioning, but the pain is less immediate than he would have thought. It feels old, still present but already processed, more the reopening of a scab than the initial injury.

He finds himself grateful when Julian offers no verbal condolences, but instead merely gestures towards the pile of clothes still in his lap.

“There’s a bathroom over there if you’d like to get changed.” he offers, voice infuriatingly gentle.

Still, Garak manages a polite smile. “How thoughtful of you, thank you.”

Getting up is a slow process, not helped by all the new information whirling in Garak’s mind, his concern for Cardassia pressing to the forefront. Reaffirming the doctor’s assessment of him. It flares up further once the lights slowly flicker on in the bathroom and his eyes flicker to the sink, or rather, to the sign above it, proclaiming the water to be unsafe for drinking.

Cardassia has hardly ever been a place of abundance, but as with most civilised worlds, the days of contaminated water are ancient history, or at least they should be. It pains him to think just how much damage there must have been immediately after the war for this still to be a concern even in a hospital, if Bashir is to be believed about how long the recovery efforts have already been going on. Looking at the sonic shower, the sign there proclaims a need to request a redirection of electricity from the staff for it to work.

He turns back and carefully strips out of his hospital garb, then reaches for his own clothes. They’re sturdy, adequately functional, yet soft to the touch, and when he runs his fingers along the seam of the arm, he simply  _ knows _ that the sewing equipment malfunctioned and there’d been need to redo some of the stitches. It seems that at the very least, Julian was truthful that Garak made these himself. And they fit perfectly, looking a lot more elegant now that he wears them compared to their rather plain appearance when folded.

_ You know what the sad part is? I’m a very good tailor. _

The image attached to the remembered words is faint, darkened bulkheads and burnt fabric, cold and a hint of smoke. He once again doesn’t quite know how, but he recognises his shop. His tailor shop on DS9. Further truths from the doctor. Garak smiles to himself – at this rate, he will have to seriously consider the possibility that Julian really is his husband, and admittedly, the prospect is far from unpleasant.

As consummate a liar as he is, Garak makes a point to at least try to avoid lying to himself – unless it supports a cover identity, after all, it is harder to detect a lie if he has convinced even himself of it – and so, he can’t help but think that it’s in fact a far more pleasant idea than it should be, than if he’d consider Julian merely an exceedingly attractive friend. He sighs and resolves to not only retain his suspicions, as his suspicious nature has saved his life far too many times to disregard it no matter how nice the idea of a marriage to the doctor seems, but also to keep an open mind. After all, an open mind is the essence of intellect.

Running his palms over his tunic to smooth out the few wrinkles it sustained while folded, Garak finally turns around to regard himself in the mirror.

Unless the Tal Shiar has gone truly all-out with plastic surgery and a holographic simulation – though Julian’s presence alone seems far too creative to have been thought up by a  _ Romulan _ – this serves as final confirmation that there are indeed years missing from his memory. His scales have visibly aged and the beginnings of wrinkles are running through some of them, and a faint smattering of the first grey hairs have appeared among the black. There is a visible softening around his waist, hiding the nonetheless reasonably well-maintained strength underneath, and he is more than pleased to find that it, combined with his most politely unassuming smile, gives him an air of complete harmlessness he has never before managed to project, no matter how finely honed his acting skills. His resemblance to Tain has increased, but he is quietly fond of the way there is something very  _ Mila _ around his eyes.

Another emotional ache makes itself known, fresher than the grief for Tain, but also already dulled by time. He has little desire to further examine it at this point. Although unobserved – at least presumably, since given his profession, this is an assumption he cannot risk allowing himself to be certain about – he does his best not to allow any of it to show, taking a moment to fully compose himself while folding the hospital gown, before leaving the bathroom once more.

If nothing else, he is sure that Julian will once more provide a pleasant distraction, and he is proven right the moment the doctor turns to look at him, a loving smile once more in place, and a certain – very  _ interesting _ – spark of heat in his hazel eyes.

“I see that we are in agreement that age has been rather kind to me. It must have been, seeing as I have apparently convinced you to marry me.”

The renewed flush on that soft looking, caramel skin in response to his flirting is satisfying, but not nearly as much so as the way Julian’s eyes briefly flicker to his lips when Garak steps decidedly inside his personal space.

“Oh, it definitely has. But I’ll have you know, after seven years, I was beginning to wonder if you’d never make a move.” he counters, delightfully argumentative.

Far be it from Garak to not respond in kind. “And couldn’t I say the same of you, my dear doctor?”

“Well, I don’t know. You did have a bit of a head start, seeing as you didn’t tell me that Cardassians flirt by arguing. I had to find that out by coincidence during a conversation with my best friend, almost  _ three years _ after I first met you.”

“Perhaps I merely didn’t want to insult your observational skills by implying you wouldn’t be able to work it out yourself. After all, you Federation types ought to be well-versed in the study of other species and cultures already, and with someone as obviously intelligent as you, surely you would have noticed sooner or later.”

“I’ve always concerned myself more with the anatomical than the cultural aspect. You’re the trained intelligence operative, Garak. Shouldn’t you have seen that I was basically throwing myself at you?”

“At the moment, you would know that better than I do, my dear. But I’d imagine that you would have been more than welcome at any time to request my presence to aid study of anatomy.”

“If only you’d been so direct then. Instead, I spent all that time never daring to make a move beyond arguing about literature with you.”

It is worryingly easy to imagine spending a decade, even a lifetime arguing with this man. The flush still hasn’t faded, giving him a promisingly warm appearance, his eyes twinkle with answering challenge, and he can’t imagine ever tiring of poking at this sharp, quicksilver mind, disagreeing just for the sake of disagreeing in a rapid-fire of arguments and counterarguments.

In the hallway, a nurse passes their doorway, throwing them a quick glance.

“Maybe this is a conversation best suited for a more private location? I believe I was promised the possibility to rest at home. Under close medical supervision, I assume?”

The doctor’s gaze lowers to Garak’s lips once more, before returning to meet his own, and he takes another half-step closer before he is stopped with a warm hand placed gently on his chest.

“Nice try, Elim.” Julian tells him fondly, the sheer affection in his voice making the clearly intended tone of dry sarcasm miss its aim by a mile. “But I do mean  _ rest _ . Which means no strenuous activity until you’re all healed up and your memories are back. It shouldn’t be more than a day, so I’m sure even you can manage for that long. Some light work from home, some reading…”

He affects a resigned sigh, already planning on testing his doctor’s resolve. After all, he is a very tempting individual, and while it seems increasingly likely that they perhaps really are married, Garak quite unfairly lacks the memories of shared activities, strenuous and otherwise.

“Of course, if you insist.”

Neither his assurance, nor his amicable smile seem to convince Julian, not that Garak expected them to do so, so he is once again met with a fond exasperation, even as the human turns to stand at his side and hooks his arm into Garak’s as he leads him out of the hospital room and into the hallway, a small, quiet one after just a few steps soon leads into a much busier one. They both receive respectful nods of greeting from patients and staff alike.

Garak may not remember his way through the building, but he could easily stand on his own and follow the doctor without the latter’s hold on his arm. However, he decides that for now, he rather enjoys the warmth of it – a definite perk of intimate relationships with members of endothermic species.

Much about Julian Bashir seems a little too good to be true and Garak’s paranoia won’t let itself be quieted that easily, but at this point, he is forced to concede that Julian’s explanations – and their marriage – do seem a great deal more likely than any other hypothesis. Even if it would never do for any adequately trained operative to completely rule out the Tal Shiar.

It’s a reasonable working hypothesis, a sufficient assumption to operate under until he finds a final proof as confirmation or evidence to the contrary, or regains his memories, and as such, he is quite content to allow himself to be led by the doctor and bask in the occasional, fond glances he throws his way, answering them with a smile that is bordering on genuine.

“The Legate’s Trial, you said?” he breaks the surprisingly peaceful silence once he has reached this conclusion.

“Hm? Oh, yes, your latest recommendation. You remember it?”

“It has been some time since I read it...”

Julian levels him with a deadpan look. “I’ve seen the files about how the Obsidian Order trained eidetic memories into its operatives. Unless you falsified those? Although to be fair, I wouldn’t put it past you.”

Garak smiles enigmatically. “Now, whyever would I do such a thing? But as I was saying, I’m rather surprised I would ask that you read such a  _ scandalous _ work. It’s hardly a proper representation of Cardassian literature.”

“Oh, trust me, you’ve already inflicted all the classic examples of the Cardassian genres on me. The Never-Ending Sacrifice, Meditations on a Crimson Shadow...”

“ _ Inflicted? _ ”

“The Legate’s Trial was almost entertaining in comparison, even if I remain a little disappointed at what counts as scandalous. Though I’ll admit, it did have me fooled, for a moment there, I almost thought Grentek might actually be proven innocent.”

“Oh, but doctor, that is not what makes it scandalous.” Garak lies.

“No? Do enlighten me.”

“Of course not! That was merely the result of the Glinn’s corruption. It’s the premise itself that almost didn’t pass the literary body of censors. To think, someone of such a high rank accused and ultimately convicted of treason, having successfully deceived the state for decades...”

“Of course he did, he was in a position of power, and the further he rose, the more easily it became for him to cover up his crimes. People like that exist in all societies, in all cultures, in all species.”

“In real life perhaps, but to be the centre of an enigma tale sold with official permission is a different matter entirely. You must consider the societal implications of...”

By the time they step outside the hospital, they are deeply immersed in the argument, and Garak cannot deny that even if nothing else does, this at least feels familiar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I hope you liked it?
> 
> Alakjshdgvs I cannot believe that this is my 50th fic on AO3, when did I even manage to write so much, what the hell.
> 
> Pretty please leave a comment, comments are the fuel that will hopefully, at some point, get me to 100 and beyond :D


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